Ten Feet Under
by GraceLilly
Summary: A series of unfortunate events brings Merlin and Arthur into a deserted hut. The upcoming snow storm forces them to stay overnight; Merlin gets injured and Arthur is once again confronted with memories of his father. Set near the end of season 5.
1. Coincidences

Special thanks to my beta reader **KawaiKitsuneGirl** for her time and patience with correcting all my mistakes and for giving the story a more decent and readable form. You're the best!

Dedicated to my best friend Claire.

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 **Ten Feet Under**

Chapter 1 - Coincidences

Merlin leaned on the wooden door with the weight of his whole body, making the hinges creak; the sound followed with by a loud thud. He breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment, failing to notice that his legs gave way and let him slide down onto the ground. Arthur quickly grabbed a wooden plate lying nearby and secured the door under the handle, putting both of his hands on it to make sure that it wouldn't slam open under the force of the wind that was roaring ferociously outside, and then he joined Merlin on the ground, exhausted. They were both breathing hard with their hearts pumping wildly in their chests after the run from the snow storm that had surprised them in the middle of the woods.

The events that had brought them here had seemed so innocent. No one could ever have guessed that a routine deactivation of poacher traps, a little bit of snow and a few hungry bandits could make such a big deal by themselves. Unfortunately, it had all happened in one day in a particularly short space of time and so now they were sat in a deserted hut that they both knew very well - the hut of the sorcerer who was there when Uther Pendragon breathed out for the last time.

Merlin swept away the snow from his shoulders in a weak gesture, despite it being useless since he and Arthur were both covered with show that clung to their hair and clothes. In fact, Merlin thought drowsily, it made them look like badly shaped snowmen. His lungs were desperately trying to gather the air his body craved so much and even though he was relieved that they managed to find a place that could shelter them from the storming wind and frozen snowflakes, his magic was impatiently vibrating inside of him, making him alert, nervous and confused.

"I can't believe this," the king hissed, half in wonder, half in anger.

Merlin thought about what precisely caused the annoyance in Arthur's voice. Maybe it was the flow of said coincidences or maybe it was the fact he was in the sorcerer's hut. Actually…It was probably both. It had been Merlin's idea to hide in there after all. There wasn't much time to explain what was on his mind when he came up with a place that could serve them as a shelter, and as it was, Merlin had had to use magic to find the path and Arthur followed him without any questions - not that he would have much choice with the strong wind and snowdrifts. Merlin was glad for that, knowing that if Arthur had found out about where exactly Merlin had been taking him then he wouldn't agree so easily. They were far from Camelot, without horses, supplies or any cover and on top of that, night was nearing.

"From all the places we know, you came up with this?" Arthur asked viciously, but Merlin knew that behind the mask of anger he was trying to hide a different emotion. He obviously didn't have the slightest idea that Merlin had brought him there a few years ago as well. The enchantment that had been cast to lure him out of the castle when Morgana invaded Camelot must have pushed the memories away. It had been more than four years since then but Merlin remembered the moment as if it happened yesterday.

"There is nowhere else to hide in this part of woods. You know it very well yourself," Merlin swallowed hard, refusing to meet Arthur's gaze. He would never have taken Arthur in there unless there was another option- there was no reason to open the wounds that had had barely enough time to heal. There was no need to refresh the memories of the day that left scratches on not only on Arthur's heart, but on Merlin's as well. His actions, no matter how innocent and honest, eventually destroyed the hope that was growing inside him since the first moment he entered Camelot. The hope that one day magic will be accepted and that he will be able to finally look into Arthur's eyes without remorse.

The place looked quite different from what he remembered. It was almost empty which made it look larger than before. But even with the things missing there were still curtains in the windows, however torn and useless with the tatters flying in the draft, along with snow that must have fallen through the damaged roof, broken windows and holes in the walls. Some pots, phials, plates and herbs were smashed on the ground with most of the furniture - except a large wardrobe near the entrance - missing. It was obvious that the place had been robbed, maybe more than once.

After a long silence, when there was nothing than the outside storm to be heard, Arthur cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something. However, eventually he decided stay quiet, shaking his head to show his distrust and anger. Merlin ignored him. He knew Arthur just needed some time to himself.

The warlock headed to the fireplace that had caught his attention, hoping it was in a better shape than the rest of the hut. The chimney looked unharmed as far as he could tell, and the idea of how to cheer up his stubborn master immediately flew into his mind. He knew Arthur very well, maybe too well, and the years in his service had taught Merlin that such ordinary little things like a warming fire or something to eat could do miracles to Arthur's mood.

"You knew he was gone," Arthur suddenly spoke, breaking the tension. The tone of his voice was calm and even though it wasn't a question, it was clear he needed his servant to confirm his assumptions.

"Wasn't that obvious?" Merlin answered, finally looking up into Arthur's eyes. But the truth was that Merlin hadn't known. When he and Arthur had seen the hut the last time there had been someone living there and the boy hadn't been sure whether the place still stood at all. But it didn't make such a big difference now. There had been no reason to think that whoever lived there would refuse to provide shelter to them in such weather.

The king nodded, his face getting rid of the angry and reproachful look. He had to admit that his servant was right. There were no caves in the Forest of Glaestig, and in addition they were very close to the Valley of the Fallen Kings, which had never been a good sign.

Merlin crouched to collect some wood from the floor, mostly from broken furniture. It was lighter than he expected, and dry like tinder. The floor cracked under his legs and even though he knew it was natural for the wood to work with the changing temperature and humidity, something made him to look up towards Arthur.

"The hut's just settling," the king snubbed him.

However, the moment Arthur stood up and crossed the room to join Merlin, more cracks appeared. For a short moment Merlin really thought that the whole place might just crumble down. He looked up again, wondering if the walls had really moved or if it was his head spinning because he stood up too quickly.

Arthur froze on his place, finally admitting that something wasn't right. Merlin swallowed hard, his eyes shifting between the floor and his king, but he soon realized it was too late as one of the plates sagged under his legs. Arthur returned the look, trying to say something but something cut him off.

"Mer-"

Right at the moment that the king reached out for his servant, a series of tearing sounds filled the place and merged with the noise from the howling wind outside. Merlin noticed Arthur grabbing for his wrist, but whether Arthur believed he could save him from falling or whether he instinctively wanted to grab the only thing that was close enough to hold onto, Merlin didn't know. What he did know, and heard with a sinking feeling in his stomach, was a grating sound of breaking wood as the hut crumbled. They were fine, hearts beating fast but unharmed- and then the floor disappeared. With a sudden pull somewhere in the middle of his stomach, Merlin found himself falling into the unknown.

...

The pain in his rump was the first thing he felt when he hit the ground. Nothing could have prepared him for the blow that literally knocked the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for air as something heavy collided with his limp body. He didn't know whether he blinked or blacked out but for a short moment all that filled his world was pulsing pain as the dull thud of wood falling all around him was followed by shards, splinters and a cloud of dust.

He opened his eyes to find out that what had fallen so hard on his legs was not part of some furniture, but Arthur himself.

"You crushed me!" Merlin shouted as soon as he found out how to breathe again, his voice hoarse and full of pain.

Arthur coughed the dust from his lungs. "It's not my fault," he retorted quickly, picking himself up from where he lay across Merlin's legs, "you were in my way."

"I was here first," the servant reacted, hissing between the words. He was covered with dust and dirt; he couldn't even see the colour of his clothes and something felt very wrong with his right leg. He shook his head to get the grey sticky powder out of his hair, but soon recognized that that was a mistake as his breathing turned into endless coughing. He wondered how exactly the dust had managed to get into his mouth.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't have a soft landing either," the king said with a feigned seriousness, his own voice marked with the dust that entered his lungs.

"You landed on me," Merlin repeated, clearly offended.

"It wasn't as comfortable as it sounds. I wouldn't be surprised if I had more bruises than you in the end. You're just skin and bones."

Merlin coughed again, the tremor sending waves of pain through his hurt limb. "You fell on me with that damn armour! It makes you twice as heavy. Don't touch it!" he quickly added as he saw Arthur's hands reaching to his sore leg. The king immediately raised his hands in resignation, giving Merlin some time to collect himself.

They simultaneously looked up at the hole in the floor with the same inquiring expression on their faces. Arthur shook his head, picking up one of the broken pieces of wood and turning it in his hands.

"No wonder. It's rotten," he announced. The wood looked healthy from one side, but the other one - which remained hidden until now - was crumbling in his hands. He could imagine how the place looked like in summer - hot, wet and stuffy - an ideal condition for the rotting and decaying process. The nearby stream provided enough underground water to make sure it would remain this way until the hut got completely swallowed by the earth.

He stood up and tried to make a picture of the place they had fallen into. He had to give some time for his eyes to adjust to the dimness that surrounded them. After a few moments he was able to see the half-timbered walls around, noticing the roots that were interlaced in the clay walls. He remembered the trees that encircled the hut; protecting and covering it from the outside, but underground causing the reverse and tearing the walls of the hut apart, quickening the destruction. Some of the roots looked strong, growing from the walls and then disappearing a few inches away, creating something like a sling and Arthur thought they could easily use it for getting out. It didn't look like a problem, at least not for him. He hoped Merlin wasn't in too bad a state to climb up as well.

There were remains of something that used to be a ladder in one of the corners, some broken stools, shelves, pots and various things he couldn't identify in other corners, and other than that the space was empty. The things hidden away were all covered with clay and dust and slowly losing their shape under the ruthless hand of time.

He wondered whether the sorcerer that dwelled in the hut was still alive. He suddenly felt an urge to talk to him, to finally bring some light on the events that lead to his father's death. For a moment he almost believed he would find clues in there, something that would explain what happened, what had gone wrong that night. He pushed the thought back in his head, realising how naive it was to think like that. The sorcerer was gone and he had all the good reasons to avoid Camelot for the rest of his life.

"What a pretty place," he whispered and turned to his servant who was still on the ground, lying on the same spot. He was leaning on his elbows but nothing seemed to make him stand up or at least to sit up properly.

"You can't stay here like this. Let me have a look," the king offered, watching Merlin with a hidden concern. Merlin knew his leg was broken. The typical sharp throbbing pain was too familiar with him to leave any place for doubts. But despite his experience, he couldn't fight the last bits of the childish fear in his mind, trying to delay hearing the obvious fact aloud. However, he was surprised with Arthur's almost pleading voice. He didn't command. It was an offer and for some reason, it was enough for Merlin to nod a little, giving his friend the permission to go on.

"Where, tell me."

Merlin took a moment to answer, trying to focus on finding the source of the pain. It felt like his whole leg was on fire and it was difficult to point on the exact spot the flames were coming from.

"Under the knee... somewhere," he breathed out, already bracing himself for the upcoming pain. His eyes instinctively closed and he clenched his teeth, almost like he was trying to shut down all his senses and close himself to prevent an explosion.

He waited the whole eternity, but nothing happened.

"I don't want to tear your breeches," Arthur explained as Merlin's eyes finally opened and stared inquiringly at him. "Not that I would be fond of them, but-"

"What is that you don't like about my breeches?" Merlin asked, his voice reaching high in surprise.

"Nothing. It's just... cold."

Even though they were a few feet under the ground, the air was still very cold. There was nothing to cover them from the winter air and with the upcoming night, they would need every layer of clothes they had.

"I'm gonna roll it up," Arthur decided, trying to pick Merlin's foot from the ground.

"No," Merlin groaned, shaking his head lazily. "You don't need to," he added, trying to sit up, the move sending shivers all around his body, "it's... broken. You can bind it over the fabric."

There was a short silence between them; Arthur staring at the ground without the slightest movement and Merlin breathing through his teeth like he'd just returned from a hundred miles run. He would bet he could hear the snowflakes falling on the thick layer of snow above them as a few of them made their way down to him, flying and sparkling in the dimness like fireflies.

"Okay then," the king finally spoke, "I'll find something to bandage it. Here," he handed his red cloak to Merlin, "you can tear a few stripes in the meantime."

Merlin watched Arthur walking around the place and grabbing various pieces of wood in his hands, bending it to see if it was strong enough and long enough to support the fractured bone. Most of them broke in his hands like splinters. Merlin didn't dare to turn around to see what was behind him but he was sure they would soon find themselves in a complete darkness as the only bit of light was coming down through the broken floor and damaged roof.

"These will do," Arthur brought two plates and put them next to Merlin's lying form. "I'll lift your leg-"

Merlin nodded, hoping the little move Arthur needed to make a place for tying the bandage around his leg wouldn't cause him too much discomfort. The king placed one hand underneath the knee, but the moment he pushed the limb up Merlin's mouth let out a sudden gasp.

His body jerked up and he grabbed Arthur's hand in surprise, trying to stop him from moving his leg any further. Something felt horribly wrong and Merlin could feel a strange sick feeling somewhere deep in his stomach. He was sure it shouldn't have hurt that much.

He held his breath, shaking his head as if he was answering a question that hadn't been asked yet. He could see that Arthur was more surprised than himself.

"Merlin, I've barely touched you."

The warlock moaned through his clenched teeth.

 _"_ Are you sure it's _just_ broken?"

Merlin shook his head again, biting his lip as he did so. The truth was he had no idea. The pain was shooting through his whole leg and his mind felt hazy at the intensity of it. He feared the bone was crushed, smashed into pieces. If it was true, he probably won't be able to walk again.

"Just wait-," Merlin said, closing his eyes for a moment. He lowered himself back on his elbows, the sitting position reminding him of his painfully bruised rump. He attempted to move the toes on his foot and felt a huge relief when nothing seemed to be wrong with them.

Arthur felt resigned. He knew that they would have to bind it eventually, but it surely it could wait a bit longer since they had to stay there at least until the storm blew itself out. The coldness could actually be good for Merlin; make his leg a bit less sensitive.

However, when he let go of Merlin's leg, he noticed something slippery on his hand.

Merlin opened his eyes, looking at his friend who was clearly shocked - the hand which he was trying to lift up his leg before was now covered with blood. Merlin swallowed but it felt like something got stuck in his throat.

This time the servant gathered all of his courage and tried to raise the leg on his own, hoping to locate the bleeding wound. But he found it impossible to move, as if the leg was too heavy, as if it didn't belong to his body at all.

Arthur glimpsed the confusion on Merlin's face, and without further words he let his hand slid down under the knee again, bending his head to give it a closer look. Merlin could feel his fingers searching for the wound, for some disruption on the fabric suggesting where the blood was coming from. He hissed when Arthur found it.

There was ringing in his head. He believed it all was just a bad dream and that after a few deep breaths he would probably wake up with racing heart and drops of sweat on his forehead. He watched Arthur's face, too serious and unmoving, his eyes locked with whatever he was watching so closely. His chest was moving with quick shallow breaths and he looked nervous or maybe impatient. Merlin couldn't tell for sure.

Chills ran down Arthur's spine at the state of Merlin's leg. There was a piece of wood sticking out of the ground and ending in the middle of the back of Merlin's thigh. With the little space between the ground and Merlin's leg and with the dimness of the place, it was impossible to inspect it properly. Arthur thought it looked like it was less than two inches in diameter, but his estimate could be easily wrong especially considering how little of it he could actually see.

"You're not going to like this," he announced, looking in Merlin's eyes. "You fell on something."

"I already know that," the servant chuckled, covering his eyes with his left arm, trying to hide his face in his elbow. He almost wished it was Arthur who fell down first. His armour would certainly protect him from any pieces of wood or splinters.

"Well, that ' _something'_ is in your leg now-"

"And?" Merlin asked, impatient.

"-and," Arthur cleared his throat, "it doesn't look like it belongs in there."

Merlin couldn't hold back a weak laugh. "I think it fits in there perfectly. I didn't even know it was there a moment ago."

Arthur smiled, but didn't get his eyes off the wound. He had no idea how deep in Merlin's thigh the wood went. It could have been only in the skin, but considering how much pain it caused, he was afraid it went a bit deeper than that.

"If you think I'm going to listen to you clapping every time you sit on a stool then you're a bigger fool than I though."

"I can always carry a pillow."

"That's clever even for you," Arthur reacted, looking closely at the wound. He needed more light and he needed to keep them both warm.

"You're sure you can do that?" Merlin asked as he watched Arthur collecting wood to make fire. They could tell that the wood was mostly pieces of the floor that had collapsed along with them.

"I'm the king of Camelot," Arthur said as if it was the answer for everything. Maybe it truly was, because Merlin no longer argued. Instead he lay back as he grew tired of holding his upper chest on his elbows. He stared up in the hole and the roof above, watching the game of shadows of the night and snow. He could still hear the wind, but as far as he could tell, it wasn't as strong as before. The realisation made Merlin feel a bit more relaxed, despite feeling guilty about throwing all of the responsibility on Arthur. Above that, he definitely didn't want to see Gaius' face when he found out what had happened. After all the years they've known each other, Merlin had learnt that by injuring himself he was hurting Gaius as well. And he hated hurting Gaius.

The flow of his thoughts was soon cut off by the unmistakeable sounds of wood cracking in the fire. There wasn't much space for it, but since there was a lot of dry wood and Arthur managed to find some flint stones, it didn't take him long to build a little flame in one of the corners of the basement where it blazed close to Merlin's lying body. The servant could soon feel the pleasant warmth from it pervading the layers of his clothes and touching his skin. He never thought he could enjoy such ordinary feeling that much.

"We're gonna have to stay here through the night. I believe they will send a search party with the first light."

"They won't be able to track us," Merlin groaned. The snow covered their footprints before they even tried to escape to the hut.

"I told Leon where we're going and as you mentioned before, this hut is the only place to hide and thus, there is nowhere else to seek," Arthur encouraged Merlin. The servant looked more pale and tired than he would have expected, and it made him afraid that his injuries were more severe than he was willing to admit.

"Maybe it was a trap," Merlin said. Leon was told by some villagers that there were poacher traps in the woods which was why Arthur and Merlin knew their exact locations, and that was also why they were attacked by bandits.

"This part of wood is full of poachers and mercenaries. It's probably just a coincidence," Arthur frowned.

"But it is an option," Merlin reacted, thinking about Morgana.

"Everything is an option, but this isn't Morgana's style. It's just too improbable. I don't think you should worry about her."

Merlin nodded. It was usually him who had to soothe Arthur and not the vice versa. But Arthur was right. Imagining Morgana to set traps to lure Arthur out of the castle and then let the bandits chase them around the woods didn't seem particularly like her.

Arthur knelt down next to his servant again, looking closely at the place where Merlin's leg met that stupid piece of wood. He touched the visible part of the stick which was now soaked with blood. It was crumbling between his fingers.

He rubbed his face, trying to figure out how to get out of their situation. The wood was obviously strong enough to penetrate Merlin's skin but at the same time it was clearly old and rotten at the edges. If he pulled it out, Merlin would bleed more, but if he decided to cut it off with his sword then the tremors that came along with such an action would cause Merlin great pain. What troubled him the most however, was the fact that by leaving the decaying stick in the wound, the risk of infection was gradually rising.

"You look like you're thinking," Merlin interrupted Arthur's thoughts, impatient. He was in pain, though he was doing his best not to show it. He really wanted to get the stick out as soon as possible. He felt a strong urge to get rid of it, like shaking off a spider that suddenly appeared on his arm. He clenched his fists to release the tension that strained his muscles.

"You're going to live-," Arthur reacted, still looking at the wood. He didn't even know what else he was hoping to find in there.

"Great."

"For the next five minutes."

Merlin lifted his head slowly, looking at Arthur in disbelief.

"I can guarantee," the king added immediately.

"And then-" Merlin swallowed the rest of the sentence.

"I'm going to dig it out of the ground."

Merlin suddenly awoke. "You don't know how deep it goes-"

"If you have a better idea, I'm listening," Arthur finished the conversation.

Merlin was basically nailed to the ground. Arthur knew that lifting him up would be too dangerous. Of course he could grab him in his arms and slowly raise him from the wood, but it was too risky. He could easily stagger when doing so and such sudden move, even a little one, could cause only more damage. Rolling him on his side would probably have the same effect, tearing the wound open. No matter how difficult it was to admit it, getting the stick out of the ground was the safest way. It would be hard, but once it was done, he could deal with it like he would deal with a dagger or an arrow.

Without further words Arthur took his sword and started to make a hole. It wasn't as difficult as he had been expecting. The clay was hard, but not frozen. Once he disrupted the first layer, the rest crumbled away into dust. He was slowly getting closer to the stick, carefully revealing the end. It wasn't more than few inches deep and once Arthur saw the end, he put away his sword and used only his hands to get away as much clay as possible. He heard Merlin holding his breath whenever he touched or even got close to the wood and chills ran down his back at the thought what Merlin will have to endure next.

"Got it. Turn over, slowly," he said trying to support Merlin's injured leg and not to aggravate the broken bone more than necessary. Merlin was hesitant at first and Arthur understood, waiting till Merlin himself rolled on his left side, his arms and chest first and then both of his legs until he was lying flat on his stomach, breathing deeply in the dusty ground with his forehead resting on one of his arms. Arthur could feel a few little tremors under his hands as he laid Merlin's leg on the ground.

He walked over to the other side and tore the fabric around the stick to give it a proper look. The entrance wound looked clean and from what he could see, there wasn't that much blood either since most of it was soaked into Merlin's trousers. The stick worked as a cork, reducing the bleeding to minimum. However, he noticed the rather irregular shape of the wound and he realised he couldn't predict the size at all. The absence of water to clean the wound and bandages to bind it didn't add much to his confidence.

"Come on, Merlin. You're the physician," Arthur said eventually, his voice deep and calm despite the loud beating in his chest.

To Be Continued


	2. For Courage

First of all: I'm so sorry for the delay! I believe that I will be able to update regularly every week. You can look forward to three more chapters.

Also, many thanks to my beta reader and all my readers and followers!

Here you go... :-)

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Chapter 2 - For Courage

Merlin glimpsed the stick in the corner of his eye when he turned his head. It was a bit shorter than he expected and he could feel a slight pressure in the wound as the piece of wood was twisted until it was vertical, though he couldn't say it made it more painful than it was before. Arthur's face was frowned and his eyes were staring at the wound as if he was expecting to pull it out just by the power of his thoughts.

"How does it look?" Merlin asked. Arthur flinched and Merlin thought he must have been thinking deeply about something. The truth was that he had no idea what Gaius would do in such situation. He had been his apprentice for a couple of years and had seen a few wounds which were similar to his current condition, but for some reason his mind had created a barricade between his own memories and the urgent need to use them because of the pain and his slowly increasing panic. His head felt empty and hazy, as if the pain had disordered all the thoughts in his head and was chasing them maliciously around in a wild dance.

"It's a bit old," Arthur answered plainly. He hoped his assumption was right and the stick wasn't broken somewhere inside the wound. It would make everything much more difficult.

Arthur waited, expecting Merlin to come up with some new idea, something that he learned from Gaius that would help him understand what to do next. His servant however, remained silent and unmoving, as if asleep.

"I guess we can get to the removing part," Arthur suggested, not able to hide the hint of question in his voice.

There was a groaning sound that felt like an especially hesitant agreement.

"What about a tourniquet?" the king brought up.

"That would be nice," Merlin forced the words out of his mouth. His leg hurt badly, even without Arthur touching it, and he had to bite his lip from time to time to prevent himself from showing it.

"How is that possible that I'm not a physician and I can still do better than you," Arthur mocked him, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere amongst them.

Merlin decided that he couldn't trust his voice anymore. His thoughts were all whirling in his head, making him nervous and anxious. Arthur always tend to underestimate him, telling how useless he was in everything he was ordered to do, but probably for the first time Merlin had to agree. He was tired, hurting and he felt like breathing was the biggest achievement he could reach right now.

"Just try not to kick me." Arthur tied his own belt around Merlin's thigh and grabbed the stick firmly in his hand, feeling a slight lurch from his servant as he did so.

Merlin thought about ways how to kick someone from his current position but soon the thought got lost in the jumble of thoughts all twisted around in his mind. His breathing was coming in silent shallow gasps and Arthur had a suspicion that the boy would jump on his legs the moment that the wood was pulled out. There wasn't much he could do to make Merlin more comfortable. He wished he carried a bottle of something strong with him like Gwaine always did. He would welcome anything to help his friend with the aftermath of his actions… but he didn't think that Merlin would agree to drink it.

"Ready?" Arthur needed to make sure that Merlin was prepared and Arthur wouldn't be surprising him with some clumsy sudden action. He put his left hand next to the wound, careful not to press down too much that it caused Merlin more pain from the broken shin, but at the same time firmly enough to prevent him from moving. "Remember, your leg's broken. Try not to move," he warned him.

Merlin smiled inside. Arthur always made fun of his rambling, but now it was Arthur who was talking too much. He felt his leg becoming slightly numb thanks to the belt and Arthur's hesitance didn't add much to his composure. He was sure - and he knew that Arthur knew it too - that the fear of pain, the expectation that something was going to hurt like hell, was sometimes even worse than the pain itself.

"On three," he heard Arthur's somehow changed voice. Merlin felt the nails of his fingers digging in his palms and through his half-open eyes he saw one snow flake land in the dust next to his clenched fist, melting instantly.

The numbers flowed into one and Merlin couldn't hold back the cry his mouth gave out. He clenched his jaw immediately, surprised with the reaction of his body as his back arched up. Until the very last moment he had been repeating to himself that he wouldn't make a sound, and he was actually almost certain that he would have been able to remain silent and brave, proving that he was not the girl that Arthur thought he was. It was only when he finally experienced the tormenting pain that he understood that no matter how hard he tried, and how ready and confident he felt, some things were simply out of his control.

The searing pain that engulfed his leg washed over him with a sustained intensity, dulling for a moment only to rush in with another burst. In one moment Merlin felt incredible urge to turn over and look what the hell was Arthur doing there. The stick must have been out by now but it still hurt like it was being pulled out, the edges of the wound being disrupted. His body was shaking in some sort of spasm, the tension draining the life out of him. Hot tears were escaping his eyes, sliding down his cold cheeks and dropping in the dust. Merlin felt lost. All the thoughts left him along with his self-awareness and even though he was sure he wasn't unconscious, the state he found himself in felt very close to it. It was like some of his senses switched off for a moment only to come back later to remind him of his painfully alive body.

He listened to his ragged breaths which were followed from time to time with a subdued sob; his eyes were wide open but he couldn't see anything, only perceiving his gasping breaths that were taking turns with lack of air and a consuming feeling of suffocation. He was desperate to do something to lessen the pain and for some strange reason his mind was trying to persuade his body that moving into a different position would make the pain go away. But he didn't move, pining himself to the ground with all the strength that remained within him and trying to breathe out the slowly retreating waves of pain.

There was a hand on his right shoulder and a voice saying something he couldn't distinguish at first.

"I'm sorry I crushed you."

Merlin closed his eyes, urging his body to calm down, but it didn't seem to have any effect. He swallowed to make his voice a bit more audible.

"Make sure-" he paused, biting his lip, "-make sure nothing's left inside."

Arthur did his best to see through the blood that had immediately filled the wound, but he soon realised that it was impossible. When he looked at the stick that had come out, he had to curse silently. It wasn't smooth like a tree branch; it had a rather irregular shape and actually looked much more like some enormous splinter that was slowly turning into million small pieces right in front of his eyes. There was no way the wound was clean inside.

"I'll need water."

Merlin shook his head before he spoke.

"Let it bleed." His breath wasn't listening to him and the loud pulsing hum in his ears made his voice sound like it belonged to someone else, "-will wash- out- the- dirt."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but considering the circumstances it was probably the only thing he could do. He was sure the main vein wasn't damaged. If it was, Merlin would be bleeding much more with or without the tourniquet. He carefully untied the belt; the action followed by slowly increasing amounts of blood. Merlin didn't make a move, nor was he complaining and so Arthur sat down, leaning on the wall and tearing more stripes from his cloak to prepare some makeshift bandages.

He watched Merlin then. His servant was slowly calming down, retrieving the slow and regular breaths that brought some peace to him as well. He looked like he was asleep, his body making little, almost unrecognizable twitches now and then. There was only the sound of tinder crackling in the fire and a distant howling of the wind.

Arthur decided it was time to bandage the wound before Merlin lost too much blood and everything became worse. To his surprise the bleeding had reduced and right now it was almost stopped. The edges of the wound held together, leaving only a thin scar on the skin. However, there was a huge swollen bruise forming around the wound. Arthur covered it with a few layers of his cloak, noticing a silent groan from the servant.

"Sorry," he whispered. He carefully wrapped two stripes around the wounded area, deftly interlocking his fingers between the ground and Merlin's thigh. He did his best not to move the leg around too much. When he was finished, he treated the broken bone, putting two pieces of wood from each side of the shin and tying it firmly around with a few stripes. He covered Merlin's body with what remained from his cloak and added a few pieces of wood in the fire. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do.

He leaned on the wall back, breathing out a huge amount of air, as if it was supposed to get out all the problems that had made themselves a sanctuary in his mind. Everything that had happened that day suddenly fell on him like a load of bricks. This place reminded him of his mistakes and loss, and despite the fact he could leave whenever he wanted it felt like he was in prison, inside a cell of mirrors that reflected his worst decision and the biggest mistake of his life. And it wasn't just his father that was on his mind. It pained him to admit that he was the reason why Merlin's leg was broken, and even though an old familiar voice in his head told him that it wasn't entirely his fault (after all, it was Merlin's idea to go in there) he still couldn't get rid of the heavy feeling of guilt. No, he was sure that he would never step in the hut again, no matter what.

To be continued...

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So, I'm planning to write an auto-biography called "What I've done to Merlin" and I think it's going to have a long preface with many apologies...


	3. Reflection

Chapter 3 - Reflection

Silence.

That was what Merlin thought he had been listening to for god knows how long. It could have been seconds, or it might have been an eternity. However, as the time went by, he slowly came to the conclusion that what he could hear was way louder than any kind of silence and more annoying than any sound he could think of; the monotonous hum in his ears that was being caused by the blood circulating through his body.

His body was shaking with the pulsating pain that kept shooting through his leg. It was physically impossible for him to see his wounds, but as the stress, fear and pain played with his semi-conscious mind, he was able to imagine an apparent picture of how his leg looked like. The crack on the skin of his thigh, thin and red, almost like an ordinary surface wound worth no attention whatsoever, but there was a living hell underneath. He could clearly see the break on the shin like a line in the sand - the scar contrasting with the bare white bone. It was bewildering how something that looked so plain, so ordinary, so clean could bring him such pain.

Like lightning, Arthur's white face flashed in his vision, his blue eyes full of concern and lips twitched in a compassionate smile. He had something in his right hand, offering it to Merlin but the servant couldn't see it. He began to understand that it was of a great importance as Arthur's face got serious and urgent. The king looked like he was grieving and Merlin could feel the lump in his own throat, pain filling his chest as if it was him who had a reason to cry.

Arthur came closer to him, still holding the important thing in his hand, raising it up to his eye level. Merlin squinted towards it but no matter how hard he tried and how much pressure he felt was being put on him, he wasn't able to recognize what it was. It made him anxious and desperate. He could sense the importance of it and he could hear Arthur encouraging him to look at it, but his eyes were blind to the object. He thought about taking it from Arthur's hands, but his arms were lifeless and unmoving.

The king made another step towards him. He was so close now that Merlin had to bend his head to see what was hiding in the palm of his master's outstretched hand. Pure horror engulfed his body as he finally saw. It was the necklace from Uther's neck, the necklace which was enchanted by Morgana to reverse the healing spell, the necklace Merlin failed to notice when he was trying to save the father of his best friend. It was white-hot, as if someone took it out of the furnace, and even though it must have been incredibly painful to hold it the king didn't wince.

There was sadness in his eyes and Merlin shared the pain, feeling it growing like roots further from his own heart, the hole in his chest deepening with every other second they looked at each other. First tears rolled down his face, dropping into his hands. They were clasped together like a bowl, catching the hot liquid in a little pool and Merlin knew that Arthur was the cause of those tears and at the same time the only way to stop them. Because it was his pain. Merlin found himself torn between Arthur's comforting presence and the unspoken promise of something dangerous and unexpected that was about to make this fragile world crumble down. With Arthur's pale face, messy hair and friendly, welcoming eyes looking at him, though those eyes were deep, smaller than ever before and framed with a dark shade of blue, with all that sorrow inside and the insecurity of that moment, he couldn't understand how that was possible that this emptiness, this pure void that filled his chest, hurt more than any other wound he was ever able to point a finger at.

Arthur's face suddenly hardened, the rising anger bringing back the blood in his cheeks and without any warning he pressed the burning necklace on the back of his servant's thigh.

His leg exploded.

...

The tearing scream that he gave out was in reality nothing more than a long and especially loud gasp for air. A gasp so urgent and painful that he was sure he must have been holding his breath while sleeping.

"Merlin!"

Arthur grabbed Merlin's leg with one hand and put the other one on his shoulder as he kicked with both of his legs, trying to crawl away.

"Merlin!"

His eyes flashed open. He was confused, still partly imprisoned in his dream, with something blocking him from setting his thoughts straight. It took him some time to remember where he was and why, but he still felt as if he was stuck in the previous world, feeling the heated iron on his leg and the grief in his chest. He was lying on his stomach, his body tense and sore. The tears on his face proved that he was crying just a while ago and he realised that the heat on the back of his thigh was not hot, but cold.

"Easy now, I didn't mean to scare you," Arthur soothed him, patting Merlin's shoulder as the servant trembled with the shock. "It's just a bit of snow."

Arthur showed him a makeshift sachet made of his cloak with snow inside. He wanted to eliminate the swelling and ease the pain by cooling it down, but Merlin - asleep as he was - experienced the opposite effect. He was still startled and confused, the last sobs shaking with his weak body. He felt horrible. He felt like a complete mess.

"You didn't scare me. I was asleep," he rasped, blinking through the tears.

"I should have woken you up before I put that bandage on you," Arthur said apologetically.

Merlin laid his head back on his folded arms, finally relaxing again and despite being prepared for the cold this time, he hissed as Arthur put the snow on the wound again. The pressure was painful, but soon all he could feel was the numbing coldness.

"Sorry," Merlin whispered in the dust. By waking up like that, he must have surprised Arthur as well, even though he knew the king would never admit it.

"You know, it would take more than one sleepy servant to startle me."

Merlin's mouth rose in a slight smile. He didn't feel very comfortable, though, when he realised that Arthur probably heard him sobbing in his sleep. He wondered what the night was going to bring next because he already felt humiliated enough and there were still a few hours ahead.

"How did you even get it? There's no snow in here."

"A floor above," Arthur responded, still holding the cold bandage on the wound.

Merlin turned his head, trying to read out from his face the truth.

"Seriously?" he asked, the curiosity finally making him fully awake.

"I told you before. The roots. I climbed up, made this nice snowball and got back. Simple as it is."

Merlin couldn't miss the hint of pride in Arthur's voice. And he was glad that Arthur had proven his theory and managed to climb up. Once he'd done it once, it wouldn't be a problem the next time; however, he couldn't say the same about himself. He decided to push that thought to the back of his head for now. There was still time to figure that out.

Arthur shifted behind him and before Merlin could turn around again, there was a bowl of water in front of his eyes.

"It's leaky, but if you hold it a bit tilted like this, it should suffice. Here," the king brought the bowl with melted snow to Merlin's lips. It tasted delicious and it genuinely felt like the water was pouring life into his veins.

"I found no rope, though," the king added. "And I don't think the knights would have any with them. We would have to find another way how to get you out of here."

Arthur put the bandage off. It was swollen, and the bruise around the wound was slowly turning various shades of dark green and blue. He hoped the swelling wasn't caused by leftover pieces of the wood, although as far as he could tell Merlin wasn't feverish, which indicated that there was no infection settling in. Considering the state of that wood, he might call that a miracle.

"I wish Gaius was here," Merlin whispered slowly, like he could hear Arthur's thoughts, his body unmoving.

The king remained silent before he spoke.

"Or the sorcerer. I'm sure he would know how to help you," Arthur almost smiled at the thought. What would he do? What would the sorcerer do if they met again face to face? He couldn't chase the questions out of his mind since the moment they entered the hut.

"So you're not angry with him?" Merlin asked carefully, trying not to show the hope that suddenly pervaded him.

"I am," Arthur paused for a while, "But if I blamed him for my father's death, I would have to blame myself as well. And I'm not sure that's fair."

Merlin completely forgot about his leg the moment Arthur's words reached his ears. He had needed to hear this a long time ago. The remorse was still chasing him from time to time and it had never really worn off, but he was sure that after hearing Arthur, he would be finally able to let things go and forgive himself.

"But I can't deny that it was my choice," the king carried on, "no matter how strict my father was about the matters of magic, how much he insisted on making me realise how evil and twisted magic truly is, I think I always had my doubts. I guess my curiosity combined with the desperate need to save him took a great part in his death."

Merlin rested his head on the ground, Arthur's words reminding him of his own father and how he blamed himself for his death. It was Merlin who released the Great Dragon. If it weren't for him, his father would still be alive. Arthur probably felt about Uther in a very similar way.

Merlin started to move, the sudden action making Arthur jump.

"Are you cold?"

"No," Merlin rasped. "I need to sit."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Arthur said, supporting Merlin from one side as he managed to get up onto his healthy knee, hissing slightly.

"Ouch... -can't breathe lying like that."

"Turn on your side then."

Merlin shook his head. He was fed up with lying on the ground, being the wounded one. He wanted to sit down and be equal to Arthur, and maybe for a little while pretend that nothing ever happened.

Arthur quickly thought about the options they had. Maybe if they were careful he could sit Merlin against the wall next to the fire and lift his hurt leg on one of the many wooden sticks and boards they had.

"All right, just slowly," the king said finally, "here."

Merlin's head dropped on his chest the moment he sat down, feeling the end of his spine leaning on the ground. Arthur didn't waste time and got two logs, wrapping one in his cloak and putting the bundle under Merlin's knee and putting the other, larger one, closer to Merlin's ankle.

"That's surprisingly comfortable," Merlin smiled, his head still bent down. The flames were reflecting on his sweaty face, making him look even paler and more tired than before. He was holding his ribs with one hand. Arthur wasn't surprised. Lying on the hard ground for someone as bony as Merlin would be very uncomfortable.

He could tell it was completely dark outside. The nights were long in winter, and the only source of light and warmth was the little fire in the corner of the basement. At least they had enough wood for keeping it the whole night.

Merlin was tired and quite thirsty but he refused to sleep again. He was afraid of something he couldn't exactly name, something that was filling his brain with insecurities, stretching his muscles and making his veins feel like they were full of poison.

"Strange to be here again," Arthur said. Merlin knew that he just wanted to make him a bit comfortable by talking about different things than his wounded leg, but Arthur didn't know it was Merlin who pretended to inhabit the hut and who had quickened Uther's passing. He didn't know that by talking about the sorcerer, he was actually talking about Merlin.

"You don't miss him, do you?" Merlin asked, one corner of his mouth rising in a slight smile.

"I'm just surprised. I never thought I would find this place in such state."

"So you were thinking about coming back?" Merlin leaned his head on the wall, stretching his stiff neck.

Arthur didn't respond for a moment, his pensive eyes staring in the dark. He knew he was supposed to be angry and seek revenge on the sorcerer, but he couldn't. He knew that what he felt towards the sorcerer was not coming from him. It was his father's words that burdened him with such thoughts and the last bits of his influence that clung heavily to his shoulders. For a long time he had been trapped in emotions that he thought he was supposed to feel because according to others it was the only acceptable reaction. But it didn't count for him. Those emotions didn't come from his heart. He moved his head somehow between a nod and a shake. "Sometimes. Now I will never find out what exactly happened that night."

"You won't?"

"Look at this place. God knows where the sorcerer is now. He might be dead."

"Gaius said he wasn't a bad person," Merlin spoke, feeling a bit guilty about lying to Arthur again. Even though it wasn't actually a lie, it wasn't the whole truth either. "Gaius said that the sorcerer would never hurt you or your father, no matter what."

"I know. I trust Gaius, Merlin. But still, the sorcerer had no reason to help me," Arthur said immediately, looking at Merlin with insecurity. "When I think about it, I gave him a great opportunity to weaken Camelot. Maybe his intentions were never honest. And I can't forget that everyone who ever attacked Camelot, every single person who ever hurt me or the people I love, has been a sorcerer."

"It's hard to accept something that can be so easily misused."

...

Merlin was confused. It took him some time to figure out that he had managed to fall asleep again and was jerked awake by a louder crack in the fire. The king was sitting on the same place as before, holding a stick in his hand but his eyes were closed. Merlin knew he had been drawing lines in the dust like he always did when he needed to think through something.

When Merlin was sure that there was nothing to worry about, he calmed down again. Feeling warm and actually quite comfortable, he could easily forget about the things that happened. Even his wounded leg was painless. Actually, when he thought more about the leg he realised he couldn't feel it at all.

He massaged his thigh a bit, hoping to retrieve some sense in the limb but it had no effect. He put more pressure on it in a desperate need to feel something in there - even the pain, he didn't care - but his leg was completely numb, lifeless.

He must have made some strange sound that he wasn't aware of because Arthur suddenly woke up.

"What is it?"

Merlin smiled uncomfortably, as if he was caught red-handed. "My leg," he gasped, trying to push back any hints of panic. It felt like someone literally cut off a part of him.

Arthur quickly removed the logs, ordering Merlin to lie down. He tried to direct his legs to the fire, knowing that the warm could help to restore the blood circulation.

"That's better," he said as he finished, making sure Merlin didn't get too close to the flames. He put Merlin's foot in his lap. The servant lifted his head and look at him in disbelief, almost inquiringly.

"I never knew you cared."

Arthur grinned, pretending to be surprised with himself. "I must have hit my head when we fell."

They chuckled, both knowing it wasn't quite the truth but none of them willing to admit it. But it was all right. It didn't matter that Arthur's words were often sharp, unfair and sometimes even cruel, because despite all of that there was a deep friendship and unconditional devotion between them that was built on years of shared experiences and moments of comfortable silence that Merlin treasured. It was only in times like this, when the circumstances allowed them to look underneath the surface, that Merlin remembered that maybe it had been destiny that drew them together, but it was their choice and a conscious decision that kept them that way, although Arthur hid behind a veil of pride and stubbornness and Merlin was burdened a great secret, everything important was there, strong as a rock, vivid and living with a sustained energy and endless will.

Merlin shifted a bit, making sure that he kept the leg slightly lifted to offset the sudden rush of blood. There was still a danger that the wound would start bleeding again. Soon he could perceive the slowly increasing pressure, the blood awakening every fibre and bringing back the dull pain of his wounds. His leg felt strangely heavy and big.

He noticed Arthur's smile and hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit weird as it was obvious Arthur was watching him.

"What?"

"Nothing," the king answered. "You never do as you are told."

"Nor do you," Merlin reacted plainly and Arthur grinned.

"It's funny," Arthur smiled, the flames of the fire reflecting in his eyes, "I remember the day I saw you for the first time."

Merlin smiled widely. "You were surrounded by a bunch of arrogant asses."

"And you were rude that time," Arthur said immediately, raising his finger, "nothing's changed since then."

"You did," Merlin's words left his mouth a bit faster than he wanted. "You're still a royal prat but there has been some progress-" he added hesitantly.

"If my father had known how you addressed me, you would have been banished before you said hello to Gaius," the king carried on. He wasn't reproachful nor was he trying to make Merlin grateful that he didn't complain at his father. His voice sounded like he was telling a nice story from his past, a memory that needed to be refreshed and remembered.

"What a shame it would be," Merlin breathed out.

Arthur smiled. "And not that it was difficult that time. Let's say I really didn't like you."

"You still don't like me," Merlin mocked.

"Well, you fought against me then and you don't exactly hold back now either."

Merlin looked up in Arthur's eyes. Of course he fought. Everyone would struggle with someone as arrogant and ruthless as Arthur but maybe Kilgarrah was right. Maybe it was truly a journey both of them needed to undertake.

To be continued...


	4. Timing

Thank you for reading, following, favouriting and for the kind reviews. And as always, sorry for the long delay, Arthur knows I deserve to be put in the stocks...

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Chapter 4 - Timing

Merlin hadn't fallen asleep for a long time now. He decided to rest with his eyes closed; opening them from time to time just to make sure he was still awake and conscious rather than choose to give himself willingly to the world of dreams.

He completely lost any sense of time, with the dark night where everything looked black and grey. Even the snow appeared an ashy colour, falling with the same intensity as it had for the day and night before, only slower and quieter.

He could see the thick layer of snow that appeared on the floor above them. The air was cold as ice, carrying a bare silence that made Merlin wary; he couldn't get rid of the feeling that they didn't belong in there, that the place was made to be cold, silent and deserted and that he and Arthur were intruders. And he was sure the sun was not going to rise that day.

He could see Arthur sitting by the fire, but he realised that the king was probably asleep since the fire was burning out and Arthur hadn't moved to sort it. He thought about waking him up, but he chased that thought away. Arthur deserved to rest as much as he did.

For the first time that night, however, he felt truly cold. He was warmly dressed, with a piece of Arthur's cloak over him and he had snuggled close to the fire, but he could feel the first chills shaking through his body. White mist escaped from his mouth in warm puffs, and the tips of his fingers were numb and unfeeling.

He stared up, watching a small part of the dark sky through the floor and roof and the snowflakes disappearing in the warm of the fire before they could reach him. It was strangely calming and peaceful and Merlin knew that like this, he would soon fall asleep again.

But soon his ears filled with a familiar sound of breaking wood which Merlin misplaced for the sound of burning wood. Something moved around him and before he could open his eyes properly and ask what it was, he found out that something was happening to the roof.

He opened his mouth at the surprise, trying to warn Arthur but nothing came out. He saw the floor falling down and all he could do was to instinctively close his eyes, avert his face and put his hands in front of him in a weak attempt to lessen the pain of the impact. He didn't have to wait long before the wood gave way and the cracking stopped only to be replaced with dull shuttering thuds.

...

It was dark. Not the almost comforting dark of the night, but the kind of darkness that was visible and dense, creeping into Arthur's soul. Merlin's motionless body, his own stiff position and the slowly burning fire made the basement suddenly look like a place in Arthur's dreams.

It was too still, too quiet and deserted. The heavy air made him feel like he was breathing for nothing, like all that stretched his lungs was a useless mixture of smells and scents that were serving no purpose but to cool him from the inside. He wanted to get out and run away, chest constrained with the memories and current fears.

He needed to see the sky and feel the open air. He needed to be free again. The only thing that was holding him back down here was Merlin, his hurt, stupid, helpless servant who lay there like an anchor stuck in the ocean. The urge to climb up became so heavy that Arthur was sure that even a little move would send him into a panic attack that would have no other solution than getting out of the hole.

He wondered what Guinevere was doing right now. He could imagine how difficult it must have been for her to wait through the night, knowing that he and Merlin were outside in a snow storm. He would have done anything to be with her now, telling her that they were both alive. He missed her presence. Guinevere and Merlin were the only people who could make him feel safe no matter the situation, but at the same time he would feel so vulnerable.

All his thoughts were lost when Arthur looked up through the hole in the floor. His eyes widened in horror as the piece of roof fell along with a huge amount of snow on to the floor above them. Despite the lack of light, it was clear that the already weakened plates wouldn't be able to hold the increased weight for long.

Without hesitation Arthur grabbed Merlin under his armpits and right at the moment the floor collapsed, he dragged him further in the dark of the basement. He felt a bit guilty for moving Merlin so harshly, but there was no time to be gentle.

"This really was a bad idea, Merlin," Arthur breathed out as he sat down by his servant's left side, trying to pull up the bandage that had slid down from the wound. However, Merlin didn't seem to care, his body tense, brow frowned and his eyes tightly closed. Arthur was sure that whatever he would say, Merlin wouldn't hear. He realised that rather than a shelter, the hut had become a dangerous place and he decided to get them both out as soon as possible, even though he didn't know how yet.

"Merlin," he said carefully after a short amount of waiting, putting one hand on his shoulder, "I need you to turn over."

Merlin licked his lips, and turned his head to where Arthur's voice came, as if waking up from a dream.

"Technically it was your idea," the servant half whispered and half cried, holding his breath and not daring to open his eyes as he languorously lay on his side.

"How was that my idea? I remember you were the one who brought us here," Arthur explained, offended, but relieved that Merlin responded. He checked the wound, making sure it wasn't bleeding before he untied the stripes and put them on the wound again.

"Maybe. But I know you offered to go to the woods to run away from your duties," Merlin said with surprising certainty.

Arthur stopped for a moment, trying to put in words how unfair Merlin's accusation sounded to him. He was sure he would never run away from the king's duties like that, no matter what. It was never his lifestyle. But when the sentence settled in his head, he felt that maybe there was something true about that. He had had a council meeting that day, and the castle was full of people thanks to the upcoming winter feast. He knew his nervousness and annoyance had been building up over the last few days. Maybe, such form of escape was only a matter of time and he only refused to admit it. When Leon came with the incident about poacher traps, he could have sent a patrol like he always did, but for some reason Arthur decided to put off the council, go in the woods - and as usually - take his servant along.

"Was it that obvious?" he asked jokingly, surprised with Merlin's ability to see through him and not be afraid to say it aloud. He was always somehow able to call the things with the right names, find the very bottom of them and point out the details that everyone else failed to notice. And it was both annoying and pleasant that Merlin was a step ahead of Arthur, knowing him better than anyone else.

"Yeah," Merlin breathed out, "everybody knows that."

"I don't believe you," Arthur opposed, securing the bandage on Merlin's leg and pushing his servant on his back again.

"It is true. Gwen and Gaius and all the knights, everybody knows," Merlin smiled, looking in Arthur's eyes.

"That's not fair."

"No, it is not," he agreed.

Arthur looked at Merlin, and for the first time he was able to fully see him. There were wrinkles of ages creased on his young forehead; he used to be so alive and now, his body was shuttered and broken, covered with dust. This wasn't Merlin, not the clumsy boy he met so many years ago. This was an old man. He couldn't notice at first or maybe he did but was too stubborn to acknowledge, but many things had happened since the first time they met, things that Arthur always considered to be his journey and his fight. But they happened to Merlin as well.

"Arthur?" Merlin spoke. He tried to read what was on his master's mind, his brow furrowed.

Arthur met his gaze again as if he woke up from a confusing dream. He doused the few embers that left in the fire with the dust and clay. Merlin was surprised that there was already light outside. "We're getting out of this hole."

"Wait..." Merlin reacted as Arthur grabbed his arms and sat him up, "what are you doing?"

"If we stay here any longer, they will have to dig us out eventually," Arthur explained. "Besides, it's already day time."

Merlin gave him an enquiring ' _how'_ look.

"I wish I knew," Arthur said, holding Merlin under his shoulder as got up on his healthy leg, trying to find balance. "Why do I have to think about everything?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're the king," Merlin mocked and he could see the realisation on Arthur's face as he found himself in his own trap.

"Shut up. It's not so high. Maybe if you got on my back, we could just climb," Arthur suggested.

"You mean if I would be able to hold on your back long enough-" Merlin reacted sceptically.

"Of course you can do that," Arthur cut him off, "why would you think you wouldn't?"

Merlin could easily write down a list of reasons why he was physically incapable of holding on Arthur for so long, but he knew Arthur wouldn't listen. He didn't blame him though, as they both knew that they didn't have many options and before he could even get used to being on his feet again, Arthur was already encouraging him to get on his back.

"I will tell you that I told you it wasn't a good idea," Merlin whispered before he put both of his hands around Arthur's shoulders and the healthy leg around his waist. His hurt leg was immediately protesting even though Arthur didn't even touch it. He decided it would be better to leave it hang down loosely. Merlin had to do his best to prevent himself from crying into Arthur's ear. He remembered the last time he sat like that on Arthur's back as Dragon the Great. It was irony. All his memories were connecting, as if the past was trying to repeat itself but it messed the events up.

When the king made the first attempt to get on the wall, putting his leg on one of the roots, the clay gave way and Arthur swayed back, sending a tremor through his already sore servant.

"Sorry," he hissed, "wrong leg."

Merlin closed his eyes. He knew that the wall wasn't high and he trusted Arthur but still, the image of him falling down on his back with Arthur landing on him again was playing over and over again in his head. He was shaking with the effort, his wounded leg hanging down like a rag-doll, dangling mercilessly then and there with every step Arthur took. Merlin couldn't hold back a sudden groan that escaped his throat when his leg bumped in the wall.

"Are we all right back there?" Arthur asked lightly without slowing down. He didn't want to waste any time, knowing that Merlin was holding on his back by himself and every second meant another moment of unnecessary pain. The most difficult part was getting over the edge. Arthur was afraid it would crumble down with their weight and he felt a huge relief when they both finally got up. They remained motionless for a while, lying on the ground and enjoying the miracle of ordinary breathing.

Arthur was partly trapped under Merlin but right now he couldn't care less; all his kingly pride was forgotten. He started to laugh - from the relief or from the irony of their situation, he didn't know - but it felt like the most natural thing to do.

"You really are giving me a hard time, I'll tell you," Arthur said when the fit wore off, "you are the most troublesome servant I've ever had."

"Likewise," Merlin whispered, smiling. He was shaking with the exhaustion but despite that he was happy and grateful. Arthur gave Merlin some time before they had to go so that he could gather enough strength to move but Merlin used that time in a slightly different way, almost falling asleep again.

"I had a hunch," Merlin announced when he finally managed to roll on his side.

"A what?" Arthur asked while collecting himself from the ground. He could see that his servant was more exhausted by the climb than him and now when they were on the light again, Merlin's face looked worse than he would have presumed.

"Funny feeling," Merlin repeated, breathless, "before we went to the woods."

"What funny feeling?" he asked, pretending to be interested in Merlin's mumble. He needed to think about how to get them out of there and he wasn't sure he would be able to carry Merlin on his back for long. He looked around the room, hoping his eyes would stop on something that would inspire him.

"That something's gonna happen," Merlin groaned, almost like he was angry that Arthur made him spent his precious energy on saying something that obvious aloud. He turned on his back and then sat up, leaning his back on the wall.

"Don't tell me you knew we were gonna get stuck in this hut."

Merlin smiled, licking his lips before he spoke slowly, "No. It was much more about me getting into one of those poacher loops. I would hang from a tree by my leg and you would laugh at me for a good ten minutes before you would put me down. That kind of a hunch."

Arthur chuckled. How was it possible that after all they've been through, Merlin was still able to keep his sense of humour. "You are wrong. I would never let you hang upside down for so long."

Merlin looked at him, knowing the truth. "I almost wish you would," the warlock smiled, his tired eyes dropping down to his wounded leg. They were on the beginning of a long journey with or without the knights. As his body calmed down again, he became cold and wanted nothing more than to lay down by a fire again. Arthur looked pale and tired as well and Merlin feared he would become ill from the cold and discomfort.

"We should carry on," Arthur suggested, getting up. He didn't want to remain in the hut. There was no need for it anymore and even though he was sure the knights were probably already on their way, he would rather meet them halfway than stay in the slowly crumbling hut for another moment.

Merlin understood. He nodded, not very convincingly, but he recognized Arthur's strategy and was willing to do everything his body would allow him to do. However before he braced himself to stand up, a loud whistle resounded from the outside.

Merlin's eyes sparkled with the surprise, but when he saw Arthur's pale face and wide open eyes he realised that what he saw outside were neither the knights nor anyone else welcomed. Whatever crossed Arthur's mind, it was certainly nothing good.

"Up," Arthur whispered, turning away from the broken window to his servant. "Come on, Merlin. On your feet." He supported his servant from one side as he shook on his left leg and guided him behind the only bigger piece of furniture that was still standing, a wardrobe on the right from the entrance. There they stood, pressed tightly to the wardrobe, trying to hide as much as possible from the people who were standing outside.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped, breathing too loud and too wild for Arthur's liking.

"Bandits," Arthur stated clearly. The voices from the outside grew louder as they both waited, carefully trying to read in the sounds what was happening. Merlin did his best to silence his breathing, and bit down the little whimpers that were escaping his slightly parted lips. Arthur drew his sword and Merlin looked up into his eyes when the first loud bang on the door shook with fragile structure of the hut, sending shivers through Merlin and Arthur as well. The spiteful laugh that followed caused a wave of cold water flow through Merlin's insides and his heart beat sped up as the realisation fully hit him.

They were trapped.

 _To be continued..._


	5. True Friend

Chapter 5 - True Friend

Merlin felt dizzy. There was a strange pressure in his head and his half-closed eye lids were blocking most of his rather blurred vision. He was balancing on his healthy leg with his back pressed to the wardrobe, but that was sliding further away under the weight of his and Arthur's bodies as they waited for the inevitable.

"You have to lean on me," Arthur's almost silent voice reached his ears. He was standing next to him, their shoulders pressed together but Merlin heard his words like an echo from a distant mountain. He was angry with himself; his body decided to betray him like that right now? True, he had had a stressful day without any food and only a little of water, his leg hurt badly and it was no wonder that he felt like his body didn't remember how to stand upright anymore, but still the timing couldn't be more unfortunate.

"Merlin?" Arthur whispered, realising that his servant was sliding down instead of following his instruction. "Hey!"

Merlin jerked awake with a kick on the door. He remembered that Arthur secured the door with a plate before they both fell through the floor. He was glad he did it because it bought them some time, even though they couldn't use the time for anything useful. There was nothing to prepare for, nothing good to wait for.

"Lean on me," Arthur repeated in an urgent whisper, supporting Merlin from behind. One of his arms was looped around his chest, whilst the other tightly held his sword. Merlin's head fell backwards on Arthur's shoulder, his absent eyes staring up.

Another blow.

"You have to hold on Merlin," Arthur shook him, "come on, this is not the time for one of your girlish escapades. Stay with me."

Arthur needed Merlin to remain conscious and at least stay the way he was now, partially supported by his healthy leg as Arthur was sure that he wouldn't be able to hold him if Merlin's legs gave up completely.

"Sorry," Merlin breathed out. He fought unconsciousness, putting both of his hands on the arm that was embracing him, hoping the little gesture would show Arthur that he was doing everything in his power to stay on his feet.

His breath stuck in his throat as the bandits finally broke the door and entered with a tumultuous laugh. Merlin felt how Arthur's body tensed. Now it was only a matter of heartbeats before they would be found. And the magic deep in his chest felt unreachable and distant.

He only woke up when he realised Arthur was trying to shake his hands off of his arm. Merlin directed his eyes to his master, seeking answers, but all that he saw was a warning look. Merlin pushed his back towards the wall and watched hopelessly as the king stepped out of their poor shelter, ready to face their enemies on his own. That was it. It was all Merlin needed to get rid of the obtrusive hands of unconsciousness.

Another burst of laugh filled the room the moment Arthur stepped in front of them with his sword ready. Merlin couldn't see how many bandits were there but the laugh suggested there were at least five men inside and he could hear a horses' neigh and distant voices from outside as well.

"I was right!" one of them shouted, laughing wildly. "I found them! And I got the money!"

"What are you talking about...," another man opposed, "you said there will be two of them. No gold unless you find the other one."

"What do you want," Arthur jumped into their conversation, impatient and angry at being ignored.

"He's the king! He's worth a whole bag of golden coins you idiot! Besides the other one's here. I can smell him!"

Arthur breathed out in anger. He stood by the side of the hole in the floor, where Merlin could see him but the bandits were on the other side where they were invisible to Merlin.

"What do you want?" the king repeated. It was obvious that he was trying to push back anger and deal with the bandits without overly harming them.

"Just wanted to win my bet I suppose," the first bandit snubbed him. "But my friends here have other motivations. And they are not convinced I deserve my money which brings me to my next question: where's your little friend?"

Arthur remained silent, unmoving, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. He couldn't be sure but the bandit's face was familiar to him. The memory was blurred with time and Arthur was not able to picture the exact situation, but something was telling him that he had met the bandit personally in the past.

"I don't have time for this. I've been bored for two long months. Search it out!" he ordered, throwing his hands in the air in a theatrical gesture.

"I wouldn't do that being you," Arthur warned.

"And why? I see you've made yourself comfortable," the man looked into the hole, the last puffs of smoke floating out of the fireplace.

"That's the point. The hut's unstable. A wrong step and you find yourself in the bottom of that pit."

"You don't seem in such a bad state," the man growled, looking at the king from head to foot.

"I had a good landing."

The bandings laughed again.

"I think me and my boys, we will take our chances. On him!"

With a series of wild shouts Arthur was surrounded by six men. Merlin could see them now, and so he knew that they could see him just as clearly. They probably didn't take him as a threat because he was obviously wounded and unarmed, sitting on the ground.

But Merlin knew how to make it an advantage. He watched Arthur fight and he carefully prepared himself for a moment when he would be able to send the bandits over the edge using his magic. They were all dancing around, ducking and avoiding Arthur's swift blows whilst staying away from the hole, but Merlin knew that sooner or later, they would get tired.

However, his plan fell apart when another bandit stepped in front of him (the leader, Merlin presumed, judging by his higher quality clothes) and grabbed Merlin by his cloak, behind his neck, and without speaking a word dragged him out of the hut.

Merlin's hands instinctively reached up, clenching around the man's wrists. He tried to shake him off but his weak hands could barely get a hold. His leg screamed in pain as he was pulled by through the room and out of the hut, the short journey making him painfully aware of his broken leg and his tired body.

He was almost grateful it was over when he was finally dropped in the snow in front of the hut, breathing through the pain and not daring to make a move. He noticed a few drops of blood in the snow and immediately felt the familiar bittersweet taste on his tongue, suggesting that he bit his lip too hard.

Lying on his stomach, he could see at least four horses with riders on their back and their hooves stomping impatiently through the thick layer of snow. A few more men were walking around the area, talking about something Merlin couldn't distinguish. The leader was standing above him, guarding him silently.

When Merlin finally collected enough courage and strength to ask what part he and Arthur played in the bandits' plan, the blood in his veins froze at the picture of the king being led out between the victorious bandits in a similar manner to Merlin's own journey a short while ago. One of his eyes was half-closed and swollen and Merlin knew that there would soon be a large colourful bruise over it, but the rest of his body seemed all right. However, Merlin couldn't predict what was hiding behind the armour and something was telling him that it would take more than a black eye to make the king of Camelot surrender.

His suspicion was confirmed when Arthur fell onto his knees with a silent groan that seemed to rise from his chest. Merlin was sure no one else could hear it, at least not the same defiant but pained groan that sank into Merlin's head like a memory that liked to settle down with time and then return as a more urgent and even more vivid version of itself, haunting his mind and forcing him to replay the scene over again without any particular reason.

The bandits didn't know Arthur the way Merlin did. They didn't know that he - of all the people in Merlin's life - was not supposed to be the one kneeling at the feet of his enemies, that he was not supposed to be beaten and wounded. And that was why they couldn't comprehend the deep-rooted feeling that surrounded Merlin's heart and reduced his breathing until his chest appeared still; why he was frozen by the horrifying, pernicious image of the moment.

He couldn't close his eyes at the scene, even though a large part of his heart wanted to. He refused to succumb to his instincts and rather than look away, he wished that Arthur would look at him. Until now the only time Merlin ever saw Arthur worried was that moment a second before they had fallen.

And now it wasn't a look of awareness, it wasn't a look that showed that Arthur had realised what was happening, that Merlin was there, but rather an acceptance of the situation. Arthur was avoiding his eyes, but Merlin didn't know why and it scared him.

He should say something. Anyone else would say something, but instead there was silence. It lasted a long time, longer than Merlin would have expected with so many people around. Maybe there were things that he didn't know, things that had happened in the hut or even before, something that only Arthur and the leader knew about. Wherever the truth lied, Merlin didn't care anymore. He just wanted to keep Arthur safe.

When the silence became almost unbearable Merlin noticed the distant barking of dogs. He didn't give it too much attention at first. It was only when he realised that the whole mood of the group had changed from expectant to confused and impatient that he realised that the dogs did not belong to the bandits. The barking was getting louder and Merlin tensed even as Arthur turned his head towards him, one of the corners of his mouth rising in a slight smile.

That was when Merlin fully understood, a bit ashamed that it took him so long. It was the barking of the hounds of Camelot. The barking that Merlin had been listening to unwillingly for so many years and now came to rescue them.

Suddenly, Merlin noticed something from the corner of his eye. "Arthur!" Merlin warned desperately. The sound cut like a sharp knife through the silence as he watched one of the bandits who had been passive until now reached for his dagger. Arthur was quick though, and before the last echoes of his name faded away the bandit was lying on the ground, unconscious. Arthur didn't stop there though, not when Percival appeared and threw him a sword. That was when the battle truly began.

There was panic spreading amongst the bandits as the knights merged with the crowd, riding through it on their horses. Merlin managed to lean onto his elbows in excitement, completely forgetting about the leader still standing behind him. There were three bandits standing between him and the rest of the group, dividing him from Arthur and the knights. It was obvious that they were there to protect their leader and that Merlin was probably a part of that protection.

When Merlin glimpsed Arthur's urgent face between the moving bodies, his chest spreading as if he was about to say something very loudly, it was already too late.

"No!"

A scream drained itself from Merlin's throat. His vision blackened as a wave of fresh sharp pain pervaded his body like a lightening. He sank down onto the ground again; his face deep in snow and his clenched fists shaking with agony. The sudden feeling consumed him through and through, leaving no place for anything else as it tore him from his world and brought him into a deserted cave where nothing else could survive. He couldn't breathe as it took over his lungs, his thinking, his whole being, everything.

Several moments later the pain subdued to a more bearable level. It felt like one of the horses stepped on the wound on his leg with the full weight. It was with a bitter feeling that Merlin remembered the bandit that had guarded him so thoroughly all this time, and he immediately realised it must have been his foot that stamped so violently on his thigh, and his foot that remained there even now, making sure that Merlin wouldn't crawl away.

"Not so fast, boy," the bandit provoked him and Merlin knew that the words were not meant only for him. Arthur must have been nearby. He felt his fist on the collar of his cloak, holding him down and preventing him from lifting his head to look around. The foot on his wound disappeared to be exchanged for the bandit's knee pressing hard in the same place.

With his chest and head pressed tightly to the ground Merlin started to have a serious problem with breathing. His magic that had until now been resting patiently inside him came stubbornly into Merlin's thoughts. He had always wanted to use his gift for Arthur and for Camelot, and deep down he wished that one day saving the king with his magic would allow him to tell Arthur about his secret.

He had never considered the option that he would find himself in a life-threatening situation where the only option to save his own life would be magic that he performed in front of Arthur. It was so tempting to use it, and Merlin knew that it would be easy since his magic worked instinctively in such dire situations. All that he needed to do was to allow it. But from all the possible scenarios that could emerge from this, that was the one that he never wanted to happen, despite how much he wished the pain to stop he would rather take the risk of being hurt or killed. The snow was cooling his face now and subduing the painful gasps that still shook him but he could hold on. He knew he could.

The hold on his cloak loosened almost as fast as it came. Merlin however, knowing the cost of his last audacity, didn't make an attempt to look up. The ground was shaking with the hooves of the horses that ran nearby, and with the steps of the bandits around him, and he could hear the whizzing of arrows as they flew to their targets. Some of the horses came so close that Merlin was sure they would stomp him into the forest ground and he instinctively covered his head with both of his arms, desperately aware of how poor coverage it was.

"Get him out of here!"

It was Arthur's order that emerged from the turmoil, making Merlin realise that he had probably found himself in the middle of the battlefield. He was surprised with the strength of his master's voice, so far from that horrifying gasp that he had heard before. He waited, lying still on his stomach, unmoving. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was immobilised because of his physical condition or whether his muscles had frozen because he was so scared. He felt a splash of snow and clay on his back as one of the horses' hooves buried itself in the ground somewhere close to him. Someone was approaching to him, the snow crunching under thier feet.

"Merlin-"

His voice was almost silent, tender and unusually friendly as it made a strange contrast with the sounds of the battle. Merlin turned his head slowly towards the man as he recognized Gwaine. He tried to say his name but his jaw was so cold he couldn't make a sound. Even such an easy task as holding his head up took him great effort; the muscles around his spine were so painfully stiff. The last thing he heard were Gwaine's reassuring words before unconsciousness took hold of his body and sent him into the familiar dark world where nothing ever hurt.

The shouts of the fight were weakening until they disappeared as the first beams of the sun emerged onto field of snow and made it sparkle like a lake reflects the stars at night.

...

Gaius often liked to talk about the healing effects of warmth. It was the best way to release stiff muscles and relax the body, and what was more, the warmth of a fireplace was always connected with the comforting memories of a cosy home, childhood, family and friends. Warmth was calming for the body and soul and that was why it was never to be underestimated as a remedy by any physician.

And now Merlin could experience it all. He woke up lying on the cot in front of the fireplace in Gaius's chamber, the bed placed way closer to the fire than it usually was. It was night and the fire was playing with the shadows, crooking them into impossible shapes which flared onto the walls. There was a ton of blankets over his body and his hurt leg was supported by a few pillows. He felt no pain, only a slight pressure as a result of his drowsiness and presumably a series of Gaius's potions.

He was alone. The silence of the room was disturbed only by the shy cracking of the slowly burning wood and Merlin couldn't resist the temptation of tasting the warm on his skin. Without thinking, he took his healthy leg from underneath the blankets and smiled as the tips of his fingers reached the fireplace. He would have done anything to be able to roll on his side, but with his immobilized leg it was impossible to do so without the help of someone else.

"Merlin?"

Merlin opened his eyes at hearing Arthur's voice. He was a bit confused as he didn't remember closing them at all.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," Merlin said lazily. The large bruise around Arthur's eye made him look strange and almost unfamiliar, but his voice was something Merlin always liked to hear. The shadow of the room covered the damaged part of his face when he sat down on a stool next to Merlin's bed.

"Bad news. Gaius said you can't walk at least for two weeks."

"That's truly unfortunate," Merlin whispered, smiling. "I'm afraid I can't even sit up," he added bitterly.

"Well, then you can stay in your most natural environment - which is your bed by the way - for as long as you wish. We're lucky your hands and eyes are all right. I'll make sure you don't get bored, and don't worry. I know that you will have a generous supply of my dirty armour to keep you occupied every day of your recovery."

Merlin stared at him with an open mouth. "I see that I would have to die before I got a day off."

"Sort of," Arthur swallowed his retort. "Look," he hesitated for a moment, "I didn't tell you but I knew the leader of the bandits."

"I know, I figured that out myself," Merlin replied, not fully understanding where Arthur was heading.

"Right," Arthur licked his lips. There was something on his mind, but the words to describe it had suddenly left his head and all that remained was a persistent feeling of guilt and a debt. He was beginning to think that there were no words invented to name all the emotions that had moved his heart, and he was painfully aware that simply saying 'sorry' and 'thank you' would never be enough, but it was all he could do.

"It's because of your father-," Merlin said when he sensed Arthur's insecurity.

The king looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

"He's not the first one who wanted to take revenge," the servant said slowly.

"And not the last one I'm afraid," Arthur answered, looking thoroughly in Merlin's eyes as if he was expecting that Merlin would tell him that he had had enough of his life being in danger, and that he was planning to leave Camelot and never return. He waited in silence, but there was no sign suggesting that Merlin would ever resign and leave him. There was just understanding, compassion and comfort in his eyes along with a warming feeling of true friendship.

"He wasn't in a league with Morgana, was he?" Merlin asked.

"No. Well, it depends. We were supposed to be the entrance ticket that would guarantee him a partnership with her. At least that's what our prisoner said the last time I visited him in the cells."

Merlin swallowed hard. He couldn't believe how close they were to being captured by Morgana herself and he would never remember how hopeless he felt - even with his magic - in the turmoil of the battle in front of the hut.

"Gaius is in the Lower Town. It looks like there will be a newborn there tonight," Arthur explained. "He told me to look after you and make sure you have everything you need."

Merlin smiled suspiciously, his eyes reading the truth in Arthur's face. He didn't need to think hard to know that Gaius would never ask the prince to look after his servant, and that it must have been Arthur who offered himself first but Merlin was grateful for such act of friendship. He looked in Arthur's eyes and immediately saw that he knew that Merlin knew. They both knew and it wasn't even awkward anymore.

"That's very kind of you, but I think I'm just gonna sleep now," Merlin whispered, breaking the silence. He would bet there was a small relief in Arthur's face when he found out that Merlin was not going to misuse his offer.

"I don't remember the journey back," Merlin noted, hoping Arthur would enlighten him.

"We took you on the sledge. Lucky for us, Leon thought something might have happened when we hadn't returned on time and took the sledge just for sure."

"Ah, shame I don't remember anything from it."

"Indeed," Arthur smiled, "maybe next time."

"Rather not," Merlin repaid the smile.

"You're right," the king nodded, understanding that neither Merlin nor him wanted to experience anything like that ever again. He almost hoped that the memories of that day would be buried along with the old hut, the sorcerer and the still painful loss of his father. It was high time to let go of the day when his father had died and time forgive himself and the rest of the world for the injustice that had been done to them. And maybe one day the time would come when he would be able to face these memories with the pride and honour of a true king, and remember the events that had shaped him and hopefully made a better and worthier king than he would ever had become otherwise. He was sure that no matter how difficult the tasks the future held for him, with Guinevere and Merlin at his side there was nothing he wouldn't withstand.

The End

* * *

Another story finished! Thank you for reading and for your support, special thanks to my amazing beta KawaiKitsuneGirl for the great job she's done on this fic. Beta readers should get some special awards :-)

And just in case you're interested, I have some more stories in development, so no, I'm still not done with Merlin!

Till the next time

Grace


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